Quiet, like the Snow
by Canadian Erect Mountie
Summary: Matthew then placed his hand over Ivan's heart. "Can you feel it? What is it?" Ivan took a deep shuddering breath. Matthew made his chest feel warm. "It is my people, my heartbeat." Matthew nodded. He leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss on Ivan's lips. And Ivan felt the icebergs melt, the cold unfreeze, the wind recede, the noise quiet, and he was able to say he was happy.1shot


**A/N: PLOT BUNNY ATTACK**

**Based on a video I saw on YouTube. I do not own Hetalia.**

Things used to be so happy.

He was happy. Katyusha was happy. Natalya was less crazy. And he hadn't met Yao yet. Or anyone else.

Toris was happy. So were Eduard and Raivis, though Raivis was just a baby back then. He wished he could take it back. He wished he could go back when everything was quiet, when their voices weren't degrading, scathing, biting and clawing and tearing at his very soul. When the snow was pretty and soft, not hard and malformed.

Now the snow was loud. The wind liked to mock him and he couldn't blame it. It would whisper, scream, cry, shout, moan things at him, things he heard many times or completely new things he discovered about himself, epiphanies and facts he already knew, but no, it was repeated in an endless pattern, the same way the snow was- constant, cold, and hateful.

General Winter offered a mixture of things he liked, things he hated, things he didn't and never would understand. Like, why did the snow hurt when it used to play with him? When he was small things were hard, and now he was big but things hurt more inside then back then, when physical pain used to make him cry.

He didn't know when the last time he cried was.

Things made him sad. Things made him mad, angry, sorrowful, vengeful- but never happy. What was happiness? He thought maybe it was what they all wore on their silly faces, their smiles, their laughter, directed against or for him- it was always hard to tell, he was never a people person. So he wore the same, he smiled, he laughed, he wore that mask, but they never seemed to make others happy.

Of course, how could he make others happy when he didn't know what it was? He used to think happiness was a sunflower bending lazily in the wind, a rare sunny day in otherwise an endless winter. He guessed it was the warm feeling he got in his chest when one of his sisters visited, or when Toris smiled at him. Toris had such a pretty smile, he made Feliks happy, but Feliks didn't like him much. He didn't know why, was it because Toris was happy? He tried to make Toris happy, but sometimes he wasn't sure if it worked. If Feliks was happy with Toris, did that mean Toris was happy? Did he want Toris to be happy?

Thoughts were painful and confusing so he drowned them out. He would drink them away for a while before his body got used to the amount of alcohol and the effect was muted. So he drank more, of course. Eventually his body began to overpower his mind and one day he felt a strange pain in his abdomen. It hurt. A lot.

Hear me scream, hear my cry, let me bleed, let me die...

_Dancing bears_

_Painted wings_

_Things I almost remember,_

_And a song someone sings_

_once upon a december_

He thinks someone came in on him. Did they? Things turned fuzzy and loud, and he wished they would be quiet, quiet and peaceful, like the snow used to be. It was loud, they were loud, make it quiet...

What was that strange noise? It sounded of something he once knew, a distant memory, an old friend... friend. The word was strange.

He wanted to be big, and strong, and he was, but not in the way, never ever in this way, not with his very soul screaming, screams he used to love, to hate, to yearn for- all his own, and it brought him happiness, so he kept doing it.

Someone called his name, and he didn't know if he had a name. So why was it familiar? He cut the ties, he felt the blood, quick and warm, only warm, so he needed more of it, to feel it, to see it smell it touch it taste it.

Blood hurts.

_Someone holds me safe and warm,_

_horses prance through a silver storm,_

_Figures dancing gracefully,_

_across my memory,_

It was December. A cold month, a time for games and laughter and rosy cheeks- and the time the snow became tainted. He liked the way it turned red, it reminded him the snow did not control him. He muted the snow with the blood of his people, and it hurt, but it was okay, as long as the snow was quiet.

SNOW_SNOW_Snowsnow_snow..._

He sighed, a breath escaping his dry, chapped lips. It was cold, he thought absently. He held a sunflower carefully in his frozen fingers. He ran through the fear, through the hate the love the joy the sorrow, he didn't want to pretend that he loved the cold, he basked in the warmth of thoughts of cold.

Tears fell like the snow but they froze harder, cracking on his face and forming pretty crystals too. He screamed. He felt nothing. His throat tasted of blood suddenly and he choked, falling to one knee. He gazed up to the cold unforgiving sky and said hoarsely, "I kneel before you long time ago and you promised happiness. I kneel before you again unwillingly in hopes of death but it will remain a hope, won't it?" he laughed bitterly.

_Far away, long ago_

_things I yearn to remember_

_and a song someone sings_

_Once upon a December_

The wind did not reply but he knew it was thinking. He knew what it was saying because he knew the wind, the wind moved the snow, and he was the snow, so the wind moved him as it pleased, and the wind was angry.

It killed. The dead couldn't testify for it however, so it killed on. Oh look, the winter was forever on his doorstep, but forever was over. The winter came inside, slowly but loudly consuming everything inside him. He didn't protest.

The cold was inside him so he tried to cut it out, he suddenly decided he didn't want the cold, that he wanted the warmth. He cried out as the snow frowned upon him. It laughed.

He couldn't fight it and let himself become eaten.

* * *

Sometimes Arthur wondered, how was Ivan so?

Sometimes he thought Ivan was a big drunkard who definitely knew how to hold his liquor- he was a bit jealous in fact.

Sometimes he feared for his sanity and wondered if he feared for himself or Ivan. Lately his surrogate son, Matthew, had been acting odd. He didn't say anything about it, preferring to pull a Japan, sensing the mood and refraining from speaking. On several occasions he saw Matthew attempt to talk to Ivan but back off, chickening out. It was obvious Matthew was fascinated and concerned with Ivan.

Ivan was strange. He would smile and laugh and act almost normal a lot, until that one time Arthur saw him crack. He saw a piece of Ivan's soul a long time ago. They had been the last two at a meeting, clearing their things. Ivan hadn't known Arthur was still in there and began singing softly in Russian. Arthur stiffened. He knew this song from a long time ago- the words were forever lost to him but he knew it.

He was sad. He was cold. And he was alone. Arthur turned around, his mouth partially opened and Ivan turned to face him at the same time. For a moment- forever or a second, neither knew to this day- they stared each other in the eyes, Ivan pausing. Arthur saw a cracked broken soul, beyond repair, one that had seen so much more pain than he had ever imagined. "Ivan," he breathed.

And all too soon the mask fell back into place, easily as can be. "Da, Britain? Is there something you wanted?" he asked, false cheery voice back, only slightly strained.

"N-no."

He said nothing. What could he say to that? Little did either know Matthew had been in the room with them and he saw.

He saw it and he was scared for Ivan.

* * *

A country's personification was human. It was the human representation of the country. Thus they experienced emotions as influential to themselves as regular humans felt. They could die. They could die if everything they were died. A human dies if it's soul was disconnected from it's body, or if their body is destroyed. A country died if there was no physical country anymore.

He really hated this, so he spent a long time searching for ways to die. He began to hover around Prussia some more, trying to figure out how he was alive if there was no Prussia. It unnerved the albino and when he burst out angrily, asking Ivan what the hell he wanted, Ivan answered honestly. A flicker of understanding flashed across Gilbert's face and his expression softened slightly.

"Mattie made New Prussia." was the simple reply, before Gilbert's regular facade came back, smirking. He didn't ask why, however. He didn't care, was what Ivan thought.

* * *

"Pluck it's wings, watch it sigh, let it bleed, let it die..."

* * *

Matthew saw that day and he hated pain. He felt what Ivan felt, he knew the cold, he was just as old. They hadn't known each other that long. But he knew. Matthew knew Ivan was cold. He was in pain. He felt it too, they were close together- no matter what Alfred said.

He did it. He went up to Ivan. The Russian was staring off into space, a frown on his face. "Ivan." Matthew said softly, prodding the purple-eyed man's arm. He was glanced down on.

"Oh, hello Matvey." he said absently. Matthew knew he wasn't really there and he became desperate. "Ivan, how are you?"

He was blinked at. "What? I am fine, why do you ask?" He looked troubled and confused. The smaller blonde never... never seemed interested in anyone, always sitting so quietly in the back of the room. Maybe he thought no one knew him, no one noticed him, but that was wrong. Ivan would watch him out of the corner of his eye. He liked the quiet and Matvey was the only one.

He liked Matvey.

"I am... not fine." he suddenly said, changing tactics. Matthew saw the confusion and pleading in Ivan's eyes and he understood. "Come with me." he said softly, tugging Ivan's hand out from his other hand. He led the Russian out of the meeting building and up to his hotel room. He sat Ivan down on the bed next to him. He looked into Ivan's eyes, only a shade darker than his, reflecting the coldcoldcoldcoldcoldcoldcold cold Russian winter.

"I know." was all he said, quiet and simple, just the way Ivan always wished it could be.

"It is always cold, Matvey. You know this?" It wasn't really a question.

"Yes."

"I see."

Matthew didn't believe him. He took Ivan's hand and tugged the glove off of it. He slowly took off Ivan's jacket and his own red sweatshirt. There was nothing sexual about it, Matthew was going to make a point, and Ivan looked on, curious. He took Ivan's hand, covering it with his own, and placed it on his own chest.

"Ivan, can you feel this? What is it?" he asked.

"It is your people, your heartbeat." Ivan said.

Matthew nodded. He then placed Ivan's hand over Ivan's heart. "Ivan, can you feel this? What is it?" he whispered.

Ivan took a deep shuddering breath. Matthew's hand was... warm. His chest felt warm. Equally quietly, he said, "It is my people, my heartbeat."

Matthew nodded. He leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss on Ivan's lips. And Ivan felt the icebergs melt, the cold unfreeze, the wind and snow recede, the noise quiet, and he was able to say he was happy.


End file.
